Break
by webdlfan
Summary: Danny and Lindsay are on a case ... can they stop the killer before he strikes again? This takes place anytime after SOOH 3.18 or DOWAR 3.19, and though there is a slight stab at 4.15, it has nothing to do with 4.15. I hope you enjoy this!
1. Chapter 1: The case

The following characters are not mine ... belong to JB and CBS, but I love them anyway.

* * *

Chapter 1:

Lindsay nodded toward the uniform as she pushed open the door to the apartment. She'd pulled a double shift more than once the last week and she was exhausted. The caffeine she'd hurriedly finished off before entering the building hadn't even touched her system.

Danny was already there, with Flack. Half a dozen people mingled around the room, all around the same age. College kids, Lindsay thought, looking over their layered dress. Not the upper crust.

Then what were they doing in this apartment.

Danny and Flack noticed her then. Lindsay walked over, set down her case, then dropped down to study the body as she pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

"Edmond Royal. Age 21. Goes to Columbia University."

"We're on the wrong side of town for Columbia."

"His roommate's family owns the building. They put up a lot of college kids. Friends and such."

"Scratches on the lock indicate a break in," Danny said, "but whoever did it, knew what they were doing. I've taken imprints of the lock, but it looks like whoever did this knew what they were doing. Montana."

Lindsay looked up, took the camera Danny offered her.

"Multiple stab wounds," Lindsay murmured, careful of her voice, knowing there were plenty of people around. "This wasn't an easy job."

She looked around, studied the blood spatter, aimed her camera.

"Looks like someone wasn't worried about the mess."

Lindsay looked over to where Danny had knelt down across from her. He caught her look and smiled at her, It was like a shot of adrenaline, and over way too quickly.

They returned their attention to the body, collecting and bagging evidence, recording the crime scene. They found a pair of ballet tickets and a wad of close to a thousand dollars.

Danny seemed more confounded by the ballet.

"In this place. A grand aint nothing."

Lindsay studied the tickets. "Neither are these tickets. Opening night, orchestra seating at the Met. Wow," she turned over the ticket. The date was for the next evening. "Guy had class. And money. He had to have money to get these seats."

"You sure they weren't giving them away?"

"Been to the ballet, Messer?"

"Why would I go to the ballet?"

Lindsay laughed--why indeed. Danny was a New Yorker, but no different really than the boys back home. Still, he placated her. Not that she had a need to see the ballet, necessarily, but that she liked to do things in New York that she couldn't do in Montana--and sometimes--couldn't do anywhere else.

And by the look on his face, he was avoiding further discussion for fear that she would want to go.

Shaking her head, she pulled out an evidence bag and slid the tickets inside. Too bad their vic--and his date--would miss their evening. She sighed a little as she looked over the tickets one more time. Too bad.

"Flack," Danny motioned to where Lindsay was bagging the evidence. "Doesn't look like a robbery."

"Two of the girl's are missing their jewellery boxes. Claim there wasn't much in there."

"High priced place, probably assumed there was more."

"Guy must have been spooked," Lindsay murmured as she looked over the room. "But his hands would have been full with the boxes. So he had to of killed here first."

"Then why not check the boxes?"

"I don't know."

* * *

"Feels like lunch time," Danny said later as they logged in their evidence.

Across the lab table, Lindsay looked up at him. "Does it?"

"What time did you finally get in last night?"

"About four this morning."

"Then how bout I have lunch, you have breakfast, but we go together?"

Lindsay shook her head and glanced down at her watch. "Okay … maybe we could stop by the roommate's workplace on the way home."

"What'cha got?"

She shrugged. "Just questions. Why not take the money, the tickets? You could get a good deal scalping them on the street. This ballet sold out over six months ago."

"Really?" Danny asked as he walked around the table to her side. "Maybe our killer didn't know much about the ballet."

"You're telling me you wouldn't have taken the tickets."

"Probably not. I certainly wouldn't have killed someone over them."

"Let's just talk to the friend."

* * *

Lindsay loved to watch Danny negotiate around the city. He rarely had to ask himself where he was or what he needed to do to get where he was going. On the rare occasion he needed to get his bearings, he looked around. Not to get the position of the sky for North or South, but with the native instinct of a New Yorker. He knew the skyline, knew the shadows.

He knew his city.

They walked hand in hand down the street, at somewhat of a leisurely pace. They were still on their lunch break, so it wasn't company time. Lindsay felt the warmth of his hand, listened to the people and atmosphere around her. New York fascinated her.

"You all right now?"

"Why?"

"You were a bit homesick yesterday."

"Maybe," she said. "More tired, I guess. And my mom called. She wanted to tell me all about my niece's birthday, and there was only so much time."

"Birthdays must be big in your family …"

"_Family's_ big in my family. Of course, we don't get to see each other often, we're all so spread out." She said. "Me and my uncle in New York, others in Florida, Texas, Nebraska, California."

"Maybe Montana's not as great as you thought it was."

"Oh, Montana's always great," Lindsay reminded him.

He grinned at her.

They walked on down the street and just enjoyed the last few minutes in silence. Finally, Lindsay glanced at her watch.

"I guess we're back on the clock."

"Hey, I have seniority. I say when we're back on the clock."

Lindsay snorted. Rarely did Danny play the seniority card. He didn't usually have to, as they seemed to simply work in tandem together through a case.

"Danny—" Lindsay murmured, surprised when he bent down and caught her lips in a kiss, drawing her in, reminding her that she was his.

_Branding_, she thought.

Lindsay chucked as Danny leaned back. "You might fit in back in Montana better than you think, Messer."

Danny opened his mouth as if to retort, then shook his head. "I don't even want to know."

Lindsay laughed again as she followed him down into the subway. On the way to the roommate's place of employment, Danny phoned into the lab, checked in with Mac. Their conversation flowed back and forth.

Lindsay leaned her head against Danny's shoulder. His hand in hers seemed so natural, so she wasn't all too surprise when he woke her from a light doze.

"This is our stop, Montana," he said gently and tugged on her hand.

Lindsay groaned, but followed him off of the subway. She blinked back sleep, and by the time they reached street level she was as awake as she was going to be.

"Here we go," Danny opened the door to the building, letting Lindsay in first. She headed up the stairs, following the directions she'd already committed to memory.

"What type of business is this anyway?"

"Some type of research firm that has a few accounts with the university. Marketing analysis, trends, so forth."

Lindsay stopped when she reached the top of the stairs and reached for her gun when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck tickle.

"Danny." She nodded at the bloodied fingertips on the glass door.


	2. Chapter 2: Bloody Prints

The characters do not belong to me, but I love them anyway. More to come soon, I hope. I'm still trying to get my muse back :p.

* * *

Chapter 2:

"Thanks," Danny took his field kit he'd asked to be brought down to the scene. He knelt down and opened the case, then looked around. He decided to take on the door first. He and Lindsay had pulled on their spare Latex gloves they kept with them, but they were limited with what they could do until they recorded the scene.

Lindsay had already knelt down with her camera and was photographing distinctive areas they'd already noted. A bruise on the shoulder.

Flash.

An exit would in the back. Blood droplets in the immediate area.

Flash. Click. Flash.

"Dexter Jones," Danny said out loud and pushed himself up. He walked over to the door.

"Doesn't look like forced entry. Came in. Could be worker, employee."

"Likely someone who knew both Royal and Jones." Lindsay sat back on her heals and studied the body. "Or that Royal and Jones knew."

She looked tired—would run herself to the bone, then refuel. Still, she had this incredible energy. He just liked to watch her response to things. She didn't hold back—not, at least, in lab work.

And when she sat back thinking like this, chewing that bottom lip of hers, it took an effort to remind himself he was on the job. Even with the dead body between them.

"Danny?"

"Oh—ah," he knew how to think on his feet. "Just considering the , variables. Don't think this has anything to do with Ballet tickets, Montana. But these two cases seem to be connected."

"Maybe not," she said. "Yeah, like if they knew each other, was this a part two in a list of killings …"

"Or vindication," he said, and walk over to kneel beside her. He pointed a finger and circled an area in the air, indicating the bullet would. "Close contact. Doesn't look like a struggle."

"Even in death he seems surprised."

"Do you ever expect someone's going to kill you?"

Lindsay shrugged and raised her camera again to note where he was pointing.

Danny moved on to collect evidence on his own. They turned the body, photographed more, then continued to go over the scene. With it on film, he picked up the left hand of the body, void of blood or trace, which would have matched the fingerprints on the door. Clean nails, slightly uneven. Rough. Not usually an office boy.

College job, research career in the future. Research would have been his future, Danny thought.

"Just as we thought. Not a match," he looked toward the door and watched as Lindsay stood to photograph the prints.

"So do these belong to another vic or the killer?"

"Seems odd a killer would leave behind a distinctive mark like fingerprints."

"Then where is she?"

He shrugged. He'd already headed up the stairs all the way to the roof, leaving Lindsay with the body. There had been no blood splatter, no trace, nothing that looked out of the ordinary.

Which means they would have to take their time to process the scene.

"She?" he asked.

"Print size," Lindsay leaned in close. "A little smeared, but I think this is a viable print. Almost a little too … deliberate."

"Like it was intended to be left."

"Killer wants us to know who he took?"

"Us … or someone else," Danny murmured. "We better get these prints back to Adam. See if he can find a match for us."

Danny looked over as Flack came in.

"Took you long enough."

"Just had to sign and turn over a pile of paperwork for a court hearing."

Lindsay snorted and Danny glanced over at her with a smile. "You're not going to try and make us feel sorry for _your_ paper work, are you Flack?"

Flack simply grinned, "No, but maybe you'll forgive me for the brief stop at a hotdog stand with the information I brought you."

"You bring me a hotdog?"

"Word on the street, or from the lab, is that you and Danny discovered this after your own lunch break," he grinned at her, then pulled out his notebook and flipped it open.

"Anything pop?" Danny asked.

Flack lifted a brow. "You think I can make your job easy for you?"

* * *

Back at the lab, Danny stood across from each other, analyzing evidence. Lindsay had the Jones murder, Danny took the Royal murder. It turned out that Jones was a former roommate of royal as well as Frat brother. Flack had men going around talking to Jones and Royal's other roommates, friends, associates.

Danny frowned. From what he understood, these two college kids were well liked, not from money, but with lots of friends. I wasn't going to be easy to sort through the mass of information that was about to come through.

"There has to be something here," Lindsay said across from him. "Two murders … you wouldn't think with the evidence we have on these two that there was any reason to bring in a pro. Research lab wasn't working on government secrets, and as far as they know, there was no way to access anything outside of their own research … so the likelihood they stumbled onto something is small."

"Its still an avenue. Adam's checking it out, Linds," he frowned a little. "You're tired. Nothing's going to make any sense on the amount of sleep you've had. You're technically off the clock. Ask Mac, go home."

"Tired of me, Messer?"

"Not yet. I was thinking of making plans with you tonight."

"Plans?"

"I'm off at six. You think you can get a nap in and be ready by seven?"

"I think if I can get out of here I can get more than a nap in," she gathered up the evidence, began to put it away. Her hand stopped, settled on the box. "So we're actually taking time out for a date?"

"Looks like it."


	3. Chapter 3: The Date

I do not own these characters, but I love them anyway. Enjoy.

* * *

Break: Chapter 3

"I know. I know," Danny rolled his eyes as he listened to his cousin's spot on Don Corleone impersonation. _Someday, and that day may never come, I'll call upon you to do a service for me_.

"Grazie, _godfather_." Danny responded on a laugh. Across from him, where Lindsay had been just an hour ago, Hawkes lifted an eyebrow. "I'll see you tonight."

"Making deals with the devil, Messer?" Hawkes asked.

"Trying to get around him, more like," he slid his phone back into his pocket. "It pays to have family in all corners of New York."

"Sounds a little too much like the Corleone family to me."

"Probably."

"You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"Lindsay will just tell you tomorrow."

Hawkes shook his head and returned to examining his evidence. "You're turning into a regular Romeo, Messer."

"Never," Danny leaned back into his microscope as he shuddered at the idea. "I'm just working it so she's happy and I'm in the least miserable position. I'm no martyr."

"LMP. A Messer acronym for dating."

"Exactly. One day, you'll be asking for lessons from me."

"I don't need lessons on how to treat a girl," Hawkes grabbed his evidence and lab folder and tapped Danny on the shoulder with it as he walked out of the room.

* * *

They took the subway, ate burgers and walked hand in hand under the lights of the city. They had the time to laugh and the time to talk about nothing. He told her about New York, about life as he knew it. She was able—purhaps for the first time in her life, to do the same thing.

There was no rush, no one waiting, no dead bodies calling their name. It was a date.

It was, Lindsay thought, the most perfect of nights. His long fingers were wrapped around hers; a fit almost like a mold. She rested her head on his shoulder and smiled.

"Tired?" he asked.

"No … well, not so much. More happy. Just happy."

"I like happy," he said. "But maybe we could try moving it up a couple of notches. This is, of course, our first date in awhile."

"To what? Ecstatic?" She pretended to consider it. Danny liked to play it other ways, but in the end he had a heart that was soft enough to try lots of things for her.

"Something like that. I have a surprise."

"Really?" That made her stop. She held onto his hand and waited for him to turn around to face her. "What is it?"

"A surprise, _Montana_. That means you don't know and you find out. Didn't they have those back in the wheat fields?"

"What? Like _Children of the Corn?_" she stared sweetly at him, then blinked her eyes dramatically. When they'd watched that movie together, he'd intimated at least that much--in jest, of course.

Danny laughed, picturing the zombie-eyed children wondering through the cornfield. He simply tugged on her hand. "Come on," he began walking again, "or we'll be late."

"Late for what?"

"Don't you want to know."

It wasn't a question.

* * *

_Note from the author: What? You thought you would find out Danny's secret? If Lindsay and Hawkes have to wait so do you. Ha ha. :p ... don't worry. You'll know about the time that she does. (the story has to "break" here ... but more coming eventually. I wish I could say soon. Who knows.  
_

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	4. Chapter 4: More

I do not own these characters, and to be honest I am having a hard time dealing with them right now. So blame the ones that do own them :p ... I just really like them together--even though I'm having a hard time channeling Danny. Anyway, the "show" must go on.

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Break: Chapter 4

Hands clasped together, Lindsay walked with Danny off of the subway and up the stairs to the street. He didn't seem to be in too much of a hurry, even though he claimed they would be late. In fact, when she looked up at him, he seemed so relaxed and comfortable.

"Here we are," he said as they turned left and began walking toward Lincoln Center and the Metropolitan Opera.

"Danny—" she mustered, sure he wasn't taking her where she thought he was taking her. "Where are we going?"

"To the ballet. It's what you wanted, right?"

She glanced down at her old jeans that seemed so perfect to wear on a night out with Danny. Her shirt was nice enough—and paired with the right skirt, might have worked.

"I'm not dressed for--you're not dressed …"

"Opening night's tomorrow. Tonight they're having a dress rehearsal."

"They don't just let people in, do they?"

"No—but my cousin had a friend who owed us both a favor. Or owed him a favor," Danny shook his head just as he stopped before the tall, sweeping arches of the Met. "Sometimes they have open houses when the hometown ballet begins its season. And the opera."

"But this isn't the American Ballet Company."

"No—as I said, he pulled some strings. At least, I _hope._ If not, we'll get turned away at the back door and you can just appreciate the attempt, right? You mind taking that chance?"

"Are you kidding me?" she asked, and stood on tiptoe to place a swift kiss on his lips. "You're amazing, Danny Messer."

"There's more where that came from, right?"

Lindsay laughed. "Lets see if we can get inside."

* * *

Danny watched Lindsay as she took in the sights and the sounds around her. Ballerinas in large while fluff that hid their hips and made them look ultra thin. He didn't know what it was, but he felt like he was surrounded by hundreds of ducks. With the excitement and rush, sounds of the orchestra tuning up, it even seemed like he could hear quacking.

But Lindsay didn't seem to mind. She had this look that he loved. She watched, she took in, her big brown eyes looking at whatever his cousin was telling her about.

His cousin had come in with them; had introduced them to a number of people. Danny stood back as he watched Lindsay to the edge of the stage and pointed to something or other as half a dozen of the ballerinas seemed to go through something like a silent walk through of some set.

The look on her face changed—but never seemed bored. Sometimes her lips were parted, watching the sets being moved and changed as the lighting altered colors. Sometimes, she bit her bottom lip as she watched and analyzed what the dancers were doing. The ups and downs and swoops, like a basketball game.

Sort of.

She even seemed to forget that he was there.

Danny grimaced. It wasn't quite basketball. No points, no stealing … just movement, back and forth.

Action, whirling and swirling. It was all a little much.

He looked up and around—admitting that it was cool to see this side of the show, but once he'd looked around he just stood back, hands in pockets, and watched Lindsay. He smiled a little as she leaned to the side, trying to see whatever his cousin was pointing out to her. She listened, her lips parted.

They didn't have enough time like this, he thought. Time to just be together, time for him to just lean back and enjoy watching her.

It wasn't that he didn't have time to enjoy her at the lab, or at a scene. She was like this, just different. Sometimes her brow furrowed in worry, or in deep thought.

This was different. This was so different.

He liked seeing her enjoying herself, away from the things that haunted her.

* * *

Danny's cousin sent them to take a seat as the ballerina's floated around the stage. it wasn't quite a perfect show—there was talking and movement, and people wondering through the mass amounts of empty seating.

Still, nothing could be more perfect.

Lindsay stopped Danny as they moved to sit down. He turned around and looked at her, his eye brows raised.

She leaned up and kissed him again, this time with just a little more promise and warmth than they'd shared earlier. "This is amazing," she said softly, unable to really voice words for how she felt. "So much better than the real thing."

"Really?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah. Backstage and … seeing everything," she motioned toward the orchestra pit where the music was playing, to the stage, where the dancers were moving together, to the side where the production people were working. "Did you see the--"

Danny grinned and touched a finger to her nose, letting it slide over the gentle slope as he watched her reaction. There was an intensity there that wrapped around her like a warm coat. Her train of thought slid away.

"Yeah," he said gently, watching her reaction. "I saw you."

For a moment it was just the two of them, the music swirling around them. It could have been written for them--emotion, life, vitality. She wished that she could record the moment, take it home, and replay it. The night--this moment.

"You're going to have a hard time beating this one Messer."

"Who says?" He tugged her into the front row and down into a seat.

Danny slid a arm behind her. Lindsay leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. She reached across his lap and captured his other hand, and let her fingers curl into his. It felt good to just sit and be, to rest—to just marvel at what they could do together.

She was at The Metropolitan. Watching the Russian Ballet. Though exhaustion played at the edges of her mind, it was spinning with all she had seen, like a little child, she thought, waiting up for Santa Clause. The images would dance in her mind and follow her into sleep.

The music, the dialog, the colors and backstage poetry of movement. Such life on stage, such design. There was just something about watching how all the pieces went together.

"Did you ever think of doing this?"

"Sneaking into the Metropolitan?" Lindsay asked.

"No--" he chuckled. "Dancing. Like that. You've got the body for it."

Lindsay stared at the dancers, slim, strong and flat chested. They had grace--a feminine grace--even if their bodies weren't the rounded shape that men seemed drawn to. She thought of her own shape--even Danny's mother called her skinny--and wondered if it was a compliment or not. Somehow, for him, it must have been. Or at least an observation. Neither bothered her.

"No," she said at last. "Too much time indoors, and in the car to town. I preferred the wind in my face outside. Did you?"

"Dance?"

"Yeah." He snorted and Lindsay turned to him cheekily. "Well, no. More, did you ever want to perform here? Like play in your band."

"Rock and Roll doesn't perform at the Metropolitan, Montana."

She groaned when she felt her phone vibrate. Danny's arm moved from around her shoulder, which told her his had vibrated as well.

She sighed as she glanced at the text message.

"Looks like we have another victim."

"Yeah," Lindsay stood and shrugged off the disappointment and the weariness that crashed down on her.

It was time to go back to work.

She let herself lean her head against his shoulder, giving her one last moment to pout. Just a little.

"At least it's close."

* * *

_I feel so bad reading other work and not continuing with this ... so I'm trudging on. Hopefully, soon ... it will all come much easier. I miss the show that I love! Review if you want!_


	5. Chapter 5: grime

_I do not own these characters, I just borrowed them for awhile ... and hopefully will return them back in good enough shape. Enjoy ..._

* * *

Chapter 5:

The building was silent as they entered in the front door. Lindsay looked around. At the base of the stairs was a dirty little teddy bear that had long ago been forgotten.

"Seems empty."

Danny nodded and placed a hand at her back as they headed up the stairs. He glanced down, pointed toward an open door. "Looks like renovation."

"_Needs_ renovation. A good place for murder."

He snorted, but left his hand at her back.

Flack met them at the apartment where a uniformed officer waited with him.

"Minimalist," Danny said as he stopped in the doorway.

Lindsay stepped up beside him and looked in. "No kidding."

There was a sofa and a box. A single photo frame sat on the mantle above the fire place that had long ago been bricked in. Nothing much else.

"Rest of the place is empty," Flack said as Danny and Lindsay walked over and stared down at the body. "Sam Rollins. His uncle's name is on this place. Girlfriend called it in. We managed to get out that he was moving in here to supervise the remodeling for his uncle."

"Where's she?"

"Had Angell take her on to the station to meet up with her mother. Needless to say, she wasn't taking it well. Didn't have much to say other than she was supposed to meet him here, they were going with his sister to dinner."

"Guy must have a penchant for living with rats," Danny murmured as he winced. "You can smell 'em."

Lindsay grimaced and looked at Flack as he shook his head. "Glad you can recognize the scent, Messer. Former roommate of our Edmond Royal and also employed at the same research firm as the last."

"Jones," Lindsay glanced at him. "No coincidence."

She walked over and looked in the box, relieved to see that it was cleaning supplies and not personal belongings. _ At least he was going to clean it up._

"And a little more complicated. From some interviews I did this afternoon, there are other connecting factors. Royal, Jones and this guy—Rollins? Are all part of the same fraternity."

"And they go to Columbia University."

Danny frowned. "Same research firm. Same field of study?"

"I don't think so," Flack said and watched as Lindsay knelt down by the body. She'd pulled on a pair of gloves. "Vic from this afternoon? He was working there because he got a job through this guy. This guy's work is in architecture. They're all from New York, and to even make things more complicated, it is possible that these guys grew up together. Or might have grown up in the same area. We're still checking that out."

"Danny," Lindsay said and waited for him to kneel down across from her. She nudged the stab wound through the bloody fabric. "Same weapon."

"Not surprising," he muttered. "Hasn't left it behind yet."

"So inconsiderate."

At the crash, the three of them stood, reached for their weapon and looked up.

"Isn't this place empty?" Danny asked.

"It was when we checked it earlier," Flack said. He was on the move, gun draw. Danny disappeared with him and they headed up.

Lindsay sighed, nodded to the armed uniform that remained with her. They'd worked together before—one of Flack's rookie's. Johnson. No—Johnny Perry.

They were left to secure the scene. Piece still in hand, she looked around the empty apartment. "Sad, isn't it?" she murmured as she looked around. Whoever had lived here before had lived here a long time. You could still see where the pictures had once hung on the walls, even under the caked on dust and grime.

"What?"

"Move here to start a new life, or at least something new—and die without seeing it through," she said and walked into the small kitchen.

"Seems a little sad he wanted to live here in the first place," Perry said.

"_Possibilities_," she murmured, opening the cabinet with her gloved hand. Empty. Each one she opened was empty.

The appliances had to have been more than twenty years old, if not thirty. The refrigerator was covered in a thick layer of grime except for a few spots where paper—likely a child's drawing or award had been attached. The rectangles had been removed recently—probably when the new guy or his uncle had purchased the building.

Memories that had been important at one time just torn off and tossed away.

Lindsay pulled the handle of the refrigerator and opened it, winced at the smell.

"Last owner didn't clean this out," she said and shut it.

At the crash, she spun around, weapon in drawn, balanced with her left. She stared straight into the living area, empty save for the couch. "Perry?" she called, searching with her eyes.

As she moved toward the kitchen, she looked toward the left, then the right … and fumbled for her phone.

But she didn't look up.

And everything went black.

--

"Was probably rats," Danny said as he headed down the stairs with Flack. They'd found boxes tipped over, but no intruder, as far as they could see. Though it was obvious someone—likely a vagrant someone—had been living in the upstairs rooms.

"You know your rats, Messer."

"Been on the case long enough to know what a rat could do, and there were stories the boys could tell back in the neighborhood. My ma though, wouldn't have let a rat near our building." He reached the floor level and turned into Rollin's apartment. "Got this case solved for us, Montana?"

He stopped, looked around. Their vic lay where they had left him.

"Lindsay?" his hand trembled as he lifted his gun, and glanced over at Flack. Flack nodded toward the bedroom door.

Danny pulled out his phone, hit speed dial and held it to his ear as he moved forward, carefully scanning the room.

She had just gone down stairs, he told himself. Their cases must have arrived. The armed uniform was with her.

The phone rang. And rang. The tone so slow compared to the beating of his heart.

And then he heard it. The sound of vibration on the wood floor. He looked over, saw Lindsay's phone. He just stared and let it ring.

"Dan."

Danny looked toward Flack who'd entered the bedroom, saw him bent down, checking the pulse of the officer they'd left behind.

His phone clattered to the floor as the blood drained from his face. He looked back at the phone and saw the dark splotch on the floor. Small and smeared, he knew immediately what it was.

"_Lindsay._"

She was hurt.

And she was _gone_.

* * *

_I seem to have a habit of torturing poor Lindsay lately ... but I think it's because I want to see Lindsay the fighter. Our girl is tired though ... will she be able to fight back? And can her team find her in time?_

And if you want to help me make this better, drop me a line and let me know how. :p


	6. Chapter 6: Space

None of these characters belong to me, but I love them anyway ... and wish they would visit me on my TV more than once a week, 21 weeks this year. That's all.

Oh, and thank you, thank you for all the reviews!

* * *

Break 6:

Danny stood there, numb, out of breath. He'd run through the building shouting her name until he was hoarse. He'd known better, but there was no procedure, no sense to what he felt.

Mac had arrived along with Stella and Hawkes. They moved around the scene, collecting trace, looking for anything that would help them.

He was defenseless. His training meant nothing. _Nothing_ when it couldn't tell him where she was.

He looked back, stared at the blood on the floor. Lindsay's blood. Part of her, part of her life.

"Danny—"

He looked over, found Mac watching him. His eyes, so full of depth, watched him. "Stay with us, Danny. Don't let yourself go to that dark place. Just stay with us."

There was no cautionary tale that they would find her. They all knew the chances. She'd already been hurt—the man had already killed three times.

That they knew of.

_Stay with us._

"Do we know who this is?" Hawkes said, lifting the frame from the mantel.

Flack walked over, but he'd already looked at it. "Little girl. Photo seems old."

"Belong to the vic?" Hawkes asked. "Seems off for a college guy to have nothing in this place but a sofa and a cheaply framed photo of a little girl."

"The girl friend might know—" Flack said. "Let's get a copy of it, send it over to her to see if she can identify it."

"First we need to get the finger prints. This thing is covered in them."

_Does it matter?_ Danny wanted to ask. They needed to find Lindsay. But he couldn't move. He could only stare at the photograph and wonder why … it was there and she wasn't.

Mac walked into the kitchen, and came out. "Lindsay was armed. She would have had out her gun. Checked the place out before she cleared the wall."

Danny thought back, placed the moment they raced up the stairs. He _knew _Lindsay.

"She would have pulled out her gun," he agreed. "We all heard the noise."

"Then where is it?" Stella asked.

But Mac didn't respond. "She was taking out her cell phone. She must have heard something, been aware--"

"Officer Perry was already down," Flack noted.

Mac nodded. "She comes out, with her gun checks to the left and right. It's in her training. You don't just walk out of an enclosed space. Then falls forward. Straight. Look at the directionality."

He used his hand, drew out the trajectory. And for the first time, they looked up.

There was a box cut into the ceiling, barely noticeable, like a trap door hidden in a floor. Flack stepped underneath and looked up. "A hidden compartment? Who has an attic in their apartment?"

Stella walked over, looked up at the opening. From the floor, there was a small space, where a tie might have dangled. Instead there was no way to reach it except … she put a gloved hand on Flack's shoulder. "Boost me up."

With Mac and Flack's help she lifted to the ceiling and pushed the cut away area up. A piece of rope slid out. Though they could see up into the space, the rope was attached to something.

"Likely stairs or a ladder of some sort," she said and lightly tugged on the rope. "Let me down, guys. This looks like our way up.

Once she was back on the floor, they pulled down the fold away stairs. Though aged, they were obviously well crafted back in the day.

"It _is_ an attic," Flack murmured.

Stella was the first to go up, but no one argued when Danny moved to go next. As Stella reached the top, she examined the opening. "If he dropped from here, or even came down, this has got to be littered with trace and finger prints," she said, then withdrew her piece before moving through the opening.

"Clear," she said, "Someone was here, Mac. I looks like someone lived here. Stayed here. For a long time."

Danny moved through, close behind her. He frowned into the darkness. He was surprised to find not a small space, but an open, studio apartment. Stella looked toward him, holding her gun up, prepared to use it. She nodded at the open doorway.

Danny followed, his own gun drawn. But all they found was a pristine bathroom, empty save for a toilet bowl full of water and a roll of toilet paper..

They stepped out. Flack, Mac and Hawkes had ventured up to join them. There was little else in the room. Not even a doorway to escape. "Only way out," Mac said, "Is down."

"This is weird," Hawkes muttered. "I mean, I get having an extra bathroom, a two story apartment. But why a place like this."

"Someone's been hiding out," Mac had gone to the window. "Patched into the electricity."

Danny barely listened to the conversation. He didn't care what the room was or why it was there. He knew, in the back of his mind, that they needed those answers. Even to find Lindsay, to help her. They needed to understand. He looked around.

In the gray he saw an unmade pallet. Not a bed, more of blankets on the wooden floor. There was a small refrigerator, a lamp and a dozen or so plastic bags of belongings.

"Danny," Stella said. Between her gloved thumb and forefinger, she held Lindsay's gun.

"So he had her up here." He looked around. "But how did he get her down?"

"No way out or in except for the way we came," Flack noted. "No doors, which is why we didn't see this place on our way through."

Danny wondered away from them let them talk. And found the answered.

"Here," he said, "and with his gun drawn, headed down a second set of attic like steps.

Flack followed, and as he stepped onto the floor, followed Danny out the front door of another apartment. Empty, dirty, and darker than the other one.

Out in the hallway, the window to the fire escape was open. Danny walked over, looked down into the empty ally.

Flack cursed as they both headed out and down. "He just walked out right under our noses."

* * *

Lindsay drifted out of darkness. She recognized discomfort and blinked to try to orientate herself. Instead, she just saw night.

Her hands were bound. She lay on a ground, her cheek bruised against the cold concrete floor.

In the distance—but not too far away, she heard weeping.

Another female, somewhere close, weeping. Softly.

Afraid.


	7. Chapter 7: the Collection

These characters are not mine, I'm just borrowing them for a short time. Still hoping to return them unscathed. :p

Thank you so much for the reviews!! If I haven't replied personally, I'm sorry. Just trying to keep the story going. :)

* * *

Break 7: The Collection

She was so tired and let herself drift. She just wanted to sleep, to push away everything else. None of it made sense to her tired brain.

The weeping fell silent, and in the silence, she heard music. An orchestra tuning up, scales flowing; different instruments, different patterns, no one together.

But it was music.

And there were dancers. The ballerinas moved in a chaotic pattern, as if each dancer was practicing a different choreographed scene. There movements crisscrossed, confusing … but still so very beautiful. Legs long and lean moved with such power. Arms lifted with such form, and hands had a practiced elegance.

She leaned against Danny and curled her fingers into his. He'd done this for her, was all she could think. She could stay here with him forever.

Something was wrong. Something was off, but it felt so good to be with Danny, his arm around her with all of the sights and sounds to explore. He'd gotten her into the Met, had arranged it so she could be more than just an audience member. She smiled, and rested her head against his shoulder. She was so tired, but she could rest. Just rest right here with Danny. She smiled a little.

They were on a date.

* * *

Danny set his case down outside the sealed apartment, and following procedure, cut the seal. He'd already been by, checked to see if the other door was still sealed. He opened the door, and scanned the dark room with his flashlight.

It was empty, save for the sofa and the box of cleaning supplies.

He carried his case in, set it down and stared at the opening to the hidden apartment above. After going over it for evidence, they'd lifted the stairs, hidden the cords inside, both sets of stairs had been marked with a seal. No one had disturbed it. No one had been back.

He would have liked to head back up, but he wasn't dumb enough to go up into a closed off apartment without backup. And it didn't seem like there was much of a reason to do so.

Like there wasn't a reason to be back here, in this apartment.

Except, it was the last place he had been with Lindsay.

He leaned against the wall and slowly slid down to sit and stare at the shadows created by the flashlight. there was nothing to do but think …

So he chose to remember, instead.

It had just felt right to get her into the Metropolitan tonight. She'd been so delighted. It had been so much fun to watch her. If anyone was keeping points, he figured he'd earned quite a few. He could still feel her head against his shoulder and her fingers wrapped in his. He could still see the look in her eyes.

A dozen different memories came back, times he knew so well because they were like little valuable rare coins stored in his heart. He watched her laugh; that look in her eyes that seemed to get him. He studied her smile, wondering what it was that gave it such warmth. Such depth.

He let himself drown in the imagery, like falling back into a pile of those rare coins and just letting himself sink.

As good as it was, something irked him in the back of his mind. He wasn't quite sure that this wasn't the dark place Mac had warned him not to go. It just felt so much better. So _right_.

He heard the footsteps approaching, but he knew them. When Flack stepped through the door, Danny didn't even move.

"Thought I'd find you here."

"You should be at home, in bed."

"I will when you go, Messer. I can bunk on your sofa, or you can come home with me. You don't need to be alone."

Danny shot him a look.

"You're not going to do Lindsay any good if you run until you kill yourself."

"I'm not doing her any good now. She could be anywhere—anywhere, Flack."

She could already be …

He couldn't think it. _Wouldn't_. She was out there somewhere, waiting for them to find her. He smiled a little—no, she was so much more than that. She wasn't doing any waiting. She had a sharp mind. He would depend on that to give them time.

"Of all the evidence we took, we still don't know who this guy is," Danny stared across the room and ignored the small dark spot on the hardwood floor. "We found her finger prints on the frame."

"Lindsay was wearing gloves."

"Yeah. I don't think it's a clue she left for us. Our guy has a reason. He's leaving behind trace."

"He wants someone to know."

"Those bloody fingerprints on the door …" _was it just yesterday that they'd started this case… _"belong to the sister of Dexter Jones, our vic from the scene. Bethany Jones."

"And we've been unable to locate Edmund Royal's sister, Jocelyn," Don murmured. "We thought she might somehow be involved. All of these men went to the same prep school at one point. They didn't graduate together, but in their Junior year, they were all at West Warren—and Janice was the only one of the sisters to go to the partner sister school."

"But you can't find her."

"Not her, not Bethany. Each time a man was murdered, a woman was taken."

"But why Lindsay?" Danny asked. "She doesn't even know what we do, now."

"Because," Flack said and slid down the wall beside Danny to sit beside him, "Edmund Rollin's sister, Deanna Rollins was with a friend. She didn't step into the apartment, but left quickly. By the time she was on the street, we were already coming in."

"So he didn't have a chance. And he went for Lindsay instead."

"Changed his game plan. But just in case he hasn't, we have Deanna under watch."

Danny pushed up. "We need to get back to the lab, factor this in."

* * *

Lindsay came awake slowly, blinking away the deep sleep. She tried to focus on the day, her schedule. But her mind was blank. It was more than fatigue.

She blinked again and stared at the patch of sunlight coming through the windows.

_There were bars on the windows._ It was morning. She had been taken.

Lindsay stretched and felt every ache, made more so because of the hard concrete floor below her.

"_You're awake_."

The words were whispered. Lindsay slowly pushed herself up and turned toward the female voice.

The woman was blond, her long hair matted against her head. Her long face told Lindsay exactly who she was—and made her mind go sharp with clarity.

"You're Jocelyn Royal," she murmured, remembering the briefing she'd had with Flack.

"_Yes—shhh,_" she looked nervously toward the door. "_That man's still here. But we think he leaves every hour for a little while. We can talk then._"

Lindsay nodded and carefully shifted to move against the wall. She listened for sounds and heard the movement of cars outside. She was taken back, years past, to another time she had dealt with fear and sat on a cold hard floor. It all rose up within her. He hands grew clammy. She could hear the gunshots, the shouts of her friends. The water still running.

Than, the silence.

All except for the running water.

Lindsay closed her fists. This was not then. She was not that girl anymore. She wasn't powerless.

She opened her fists and stared at the rope burns on her wrists. Someone had taken her restraints off during the night. She flexed her fingers, and considered that.

She looked around. The room they were in had been stripped to its bare bones. Insulation covered the walls, and was only partially contained with dry wall. The floor was concrete, stained with who knew what. There was a toilet and sink, out in the open, and a door that nearly blended into the wall. There was no knob, no place for a nob.

Other wise, there was _nothing_. Nothing other than the walls and floor and the people inside.

There were two others with her. Jocelyn, whom she had just spoken to, and another girl, younger, with a short cam of brown hair. Her face was bruised. It looked like her nose was broken.

And from the red around her blue eyes, crowned with fear, it looked as if she was the weeper from last night.

* * *

_Did you want to go--no no no, Lindsay don't sleep. Fight back? So did I. But she was so very tired._

_Now ... she's not. ;)_


	8. Chapter 8: enclosed

These characters are not mine, I'm just borrowing them for a short time. Still hoping to return them unscathed. :p

* * *

Break 8:

The sound of the closing door echoed through the building. They had to be in some sort of ware house, Lindsay realized, that was large enough to echo in such a way, and to have a door that heavy. Her gun was gone, her cell was gone. She was on her own.

"He's gone," Janice looked over at Lindsay. "You're not Sam's sister."

Lindsay shook her head. "No. You know what's going on, then?"

"What we've figured out. It isn't much. He's killed our brothers," she looked down at her hands, hands—Lindsay thought—that were manicured and beautiful, except for the bloody marks where she'd obviously fought back. "We think it has to do with--"

"Should you tell her?" asked the other woman. "We don't know who you are. If you're not Sam's sister—"

"No. I'm a detective for the New York Crime lab."

"You were investigating the case."

Lindsay nodded. "Sam's sister got out before I arrived; I guess that's why he brought me. What's this about?"

Janice looked over at the other girl. "We think its revenge. A long time ago our brothers were good friends. School buddies, you know. They met in the same prep school and were like … closer than brothers. One afternoon—it was rush hour, they were goofing off, running down the street like boys do … going from our apartment to Sam's."

"And they ran right into a little girl. She fell into traffic."

"And died," Lindsay murmured, remembering the photograph left on the mantle.

"The media went crazy. They were everywhere. There wasn't a trial, but it was like they wanted our brothers to be part of one. Eventually, our parents moved them into different schools. I guess it was just easier for them to pretend."

Lindsay ran through the information she had in her mind. "But they stayed friends. Attended college together."

"Yeah—" Janice nodded. "But in the end, they never forgot. They always wanted to go back and do more. Each in their own way."

"They weren't bad guys. If they could have gone back, traded their lives, they would have done so to bring that little girl back."

"But someone else wants to do it for them," Lindsay said as she slowly pushed to her feet. "Except, it won't bring her back … and we don't want to find out what he thinks he'll get by having us here. What do you know about this place?"

"We're upstairs. In a warehouse district," Janice said. "And he's a really big man. Strong, tall. Lifts weights. We tried to get by him, but he was too strong. And fast."

Lindsay looked between the two women. "But now there are three of us. And we have got to get out of here."


	9. Chapter 9: breath

_The following characters from CSI obviously do not belong to me, but I love them anyway._

_Thanks for the reviews ... I hope the final chapters work for you as well!_

* * *

Break 9:

Danny ran a hand over his face as he stared flipped through old newspaper articles. They had reached a dead end. Royal, Jones and Rollins. The vics had been under age, and so their names had not been mentioned in the articles—but through a complicated search of family names and relationships, Danny had finally found a connection between the three.

And it seemed there was another.

He scanned through the articles and forced himself to concentrate. Lindsay was so much better at this type of research. Or maybe it was just that they were better together. He couldn't stop thinking of her. His fingers had grown tired from making a fist, centering his frustration in that one spot.

He hit print and read the rest as they came out of the printer. He was still reading as he sprinted to Mac's office.

He hit the glass door with his hand, stepped in. Mac was already on his feet.

"We've been looking in the wrong direction," Danny passed the papers over to Mac. "These guys knew each other a long time. Four friends, were part of a tragic accident—they were just kids. It seems it was an accident, but the press had a field day with their families. At least two of them came from money. The girl who died was poor. Allie Donovan. Father Peter Donovan. Mom Shirley Anne—brother Max. I think we should look at the brother first."

Mac skimmed over the article, but lifted a brow. He wanted more.

"Gut instinct, Mac. Lets take them both, search them out. But if he's waited this long, you'd think the father would wait until they had children. Seems like the focus is on a sister."

"There were four," he noted, frowned as he looked up at Danny. "Who's the forth?"

"I don't know. Since they were underage, which is why their names didn't pop in the system. One of them had his step father speaking for him. We had traced them back to a prep school at this time, but just those three vics. We were concentrating on their fraternities, their jobs. Present day."

"Maybe we could get in touch with the school. See if a counselor, someone remembers," Mac said.

"Or the sister," Danny murmured, meeting Mac's gaze.

"Head over to the safe house with Flack. I'll put Stella on the school and Hawkes on these two."

"We have to find her."

* * *

In silence, Lindsay sat on the hard floor by Jocelyn and Bethany. They were quiet now, having worked out their plan, putting together all of the details that they knew between them. If he did now as he had done the day before, he would come in, give them breakfast, then he would leave.

And bring back the sister of the final victim.

If they were going to save the next they only had one chance.

Her palms were damp. She couldn't think beyond the moment, couldn't think of what would happen if she didn't succeed. Couldn't think of the past.

Of last night, with Danny.

She could still remember the look in his eyes when they stopped in front of the Met.

_Here we are._

_Danny—where are we going?_

_To the ballet. It's what you wanted, right?_

She wanted to stay there in that memory, to let it sweep her away, as he had done by taking her there. But she couldn't, wouldn't do that. She couldn't think of Danny. Not now. Not yet.

She would survive.

As the sound of the door opening below, Jocelyn grasped her hand and held on tight. On the other side of her, Bethany nodded and pushed to her feet, moving into position.

Lindsay looked at Jocelyn and then slowly stood.

The performance had begun.

* * *

Opening and closing his hands, centering his fear, Danny walked out of the safe house as Flack called in the information on the final friend. They had so little information. They had a name, a place of residence—not of the suspect, but the final vic.

It was the friend who was coming up absent.

And no—the sister they had put in a safe house had not contacted him. She hadn't even thought of him, or the others, beyond grieving for her brother. While the boys, later men, remained close, the families had moved adamantly apart.

When his own cell rang, he answered as Flack unlocked the doors to his car and they both climbed in. "You find something?" he asked Hawkes.

"The Donovan family had property holdings around New York," Hawkes said without preamble. "You want to take a guess on who sold the building to the Rollins?"

"Peter Donovan."

"Close—it's Max Donovan. You were right, Danny. Everything points to the brother."

Danny clenched his jaw. It didn't mean anything to be right when Lindsay was still … missing.

"They have other property holdings in the Sanchiessi warehouse district. We're already on his way."

Danny closed his phone and gave Flack the directions. He took a deep breath.

And hoped.

* * *

Lindsay glanced one last time at Bethany, who had moved out of eyesight, over by the door.

They had one chance—and it rested on Bethany, and Bethany remembering the phone number they'd rehearsed and repeated time and again, like a battle cry before the d day began.

Then she heard the footsteps on the stairs. He had come back. It was too steady and noticeable to be help coming for them—so it was time.

She took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind. One thing was certain. Of the three of them, she was the only one unconnected to his past, to his sister.

And unneeded for whatever plan he had set into motion.

But she planned to stay alive.


	10. Chapter 10: Action

_The following characters do not belong to me_._ Sorry for the brevity of the chapter. It seemed like a good place to break (ha ha) for story purposes, not for appeasement :) ... let me know what you think ... and maybe you can guess the meaning of the title?_

* * *

Break 10:

"Ready?" Lindsay asked. "You sure you can take it?"

It was like a dance, she reminded herself. A _performance_.

Jocelyn glanced toward the door, where Bethany waited. "I can take anything."

"All right. Here goes everything," Lindsay took in a deep breath and then raised her voice. "You know, if your family had of taken responsibility for the whole thing, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"My family?" Jocelyn roared, with a perceptual nod even as malice dripped from her voice. "You're kidding me right? It's _his_ family that's crazed out. They could understand it was just an accident?"

"There are so few accidents," Lindsay spouted, even as she hated the argument. How many accidents had they uncovered—though many were done because of careless, stupid acts. So she threw that into the argument.

"Your brother and his friends were careless, stupid, children. They were old enough to know to watch where they were going," Lindsay was aware of the big door opening.

"Stupid?" Jocelyn returned. "What do you know? They were in one of the top prep schools in the city—"

She new the words. She'd heard it from a thousand interviews in her career.

"Sounds like they were just little snots."

Jocelyn reared back and struck out. Though Lindsay was prepared for it, the slap still stung. The other girl hadn't pulled any punches.

As she fell back, she got a look at their captor. He _was_ tall—taller than Lindsay had thought—with broad shoulders and a body builder's strength.

And he watched them.

Lindsay pushed back.

But the incoming shove landed her back against the wall.

* * *

Danny opened the door and jumped out as Flack pulled to the curb. Mac, Stella and Hawkes were already there, suiting up in bullet proof vests. There was activity all around them as other officers piled out of cars and vans, wearing helmets, vests, and carrying rifles.

"Anything?" Danny asked as he accepted the vest Hawkes tossed to him.

"We've got men on every street," Mac said. "We're going to find her, Danny."

"Mac," Stella, who had been on the phone, held it down and away as she focused on Mac. "Adam located the information—"

Mac's phone rang—if you could call the changing cords a ring. He held up a hand, stepped back—then walked away as he struggled to hear.

"What did Adam say?"

"We ran a check," Stella's eyes briefly trailed Mac, before focusing back on Danny. "The brother, Max Donovan, not only owns the properties around here, and sold the property to Rollins and his uncle—is a carpenter. We checked. He's known for his carpentry skills. But so was his father."

"Like father, like son," Hawkes murmured. "And father's in prison."

"So he fashioned the attic in his old apartment," Danny murmured.

"To hide away, and set his trap," Flack shook his head. "And siphoned off electricity to cut back on his own expenses."

"Didn't have a lot of cash," Stella noted, "the Donovan family went into major debt trying to take the case and win through a civil trial."

"You know," Hawkes held up a hand. "This district passed Billings Blvd. has been zoned for residential. There's a big move to convert the old warehouses into apartments."

"Sounds like something Donovan would be interested in," Danny said and looked around, gauging his Barings. "We're only two blocks over."

Danny moved to Flack's car. "Let's go."

"Danny—" Mac's voiced stopped them as he moved to his own car. "I've got a girl on the line. She says she's Bethany Jones. She just ran out of the warehouse, grabbed someone off the street. Lindsay gave her my number."

Flack was in his car and gunning the engine even as Danny shut the door.

"You know what this means?" Flack said as he pealed out after Mac, sirens blaring.

"Yeah," Danny focused on the lights the rolled on Mac's truck. "Lindsay's alive."


	11. Chapter 11: A Bone to Pick

_I do not own or normally have any say over any of these characters. But I love them anyway. Thank you so much for the support and the reviews ...  
_

* * *

Break 11:

She'd been trained to move fast.

So even as Lindsay fell against the wall, she was up again, and charged Janice.

The man was just laughing.

At Lindsay's charge, Janice lost her balance. They fell back to the floor.

Lindsay rolled. Ignored the ache. And missed the return shot.

Even as she tried to scramble up, she saw him turn.

"We lost him," she said—and launched herself at the captor.

They just needed time.

* * *

The district was large, too large. Mac pealed off one street.

Flack took another.

Danny kept his eyes open. Stella had called. They were looking for a blond in pink. She was hear somewhere.

And so was Lindsay.

He had to believe she was alive.

* * *

He was leaving—would shut them up in the room—and go after Bethany, leaving the girl alone. If they couldn't leave him in the knob-less room, then they needed to get out.

Keep him back. Fight, unless they could get away.

The plan wasn't firm, but it was a goal. Lindsay got her arms around his neck. His fingers curled into her wrists, even as he cried out.

As Lindsay fell back again, Jocelyn was on him. Lindsay got up, went for him, even as he shoved Jocelyn back into the room.

With his height, it was hard to reach a mark. She used her moves from self defense—went for his groin. He blocked her, then grabbed for her.

She twisted tugged, and falling forward, out of the doorway, brought him down with her. His weight landed with her on the hard floor.

The crack was like a strike of lightening. Lindsay cried out as the pain shot up from her leg. She couldn't breathe, the pain so sharp.

She fought for her breath, fought to blink past the pain, even as her captor pushed himself up. She heard the cry of fury as Jocelyn launched herself back into the fight.

_She's depending on me_, Lindsay thought.

They needed more _time_.

Blinking past the pain, Lindsay watched as Max got his hands around Jocelyn's throat. He had her back against the wall.

His plan, whatever it had been, faulted.

Lindsay looked around. Against the wall of the hallway lay a stack of lumber.

Pushing herself up, panting out her breath, she labored to get one of the cut two by fours in her grip. It took a moment. She grabbed her breath.

Then she threw her weight forward,

Slapped the board against his head. He cried out, and turned. She reared back. Again.

And again. Against his neck.

Panting out, she ignored the pain. She ignored it all.

She watched as Jocelyn fell away, tumbled to the floor.

She hit him again, even as he tumbled back. Even as he fell forward to his knees.

Then again.

And again.

Her breath was short and stilted.

Even as she reared back again.

"_Stop_."

She swung out, surprised when a hand stopped the board from flying forward. Weak now, she turned, no longer able to fight. She had nothing more. No more.

Then she turned and there was Danny. His hand on the board.

He gently pride it from her, passed it off to someone … then reached out and cupped her cheeks with both his hands; his long fingers on either side of her face. She could see his eyes. His very pretty eyes. Like the Montana sky.

They looked at her with such depth, such ... concern and longing that for a moment she forgot to breath. Forgot everything else but that he was here.

_Finally._

"_Montana_," he murmured with that New York boy timber that rolled through her soul.

But as the adrenaline wore off, she realized there were others. The hallway was swarming with men. With SWAT. With her forensic family.

And her leg hurt. It was broken, she thought.

"I can't—" she said and she crumpled into him.

And finally, _finally_, let herself think of him, as his arms came around her to hold her up.


	12. Chapter 12: Finale

By the way, as always. I do not own these characters--but find them engaging ... and as promised, they are beign returned mostly ... well _mostly_ unharmed. :p

* * *

Chapter 12:

Lindsay stood on the other side of the see through mirror and watched Mac and Flack interrogate Max Donovan. As big as he was … he seemed so lost now, broken down from years of hate and planning. He stared across the table, not really looking at anything, his eyes somewhat glazed over.

His hands were both placed on the table, palms down. She stared at them, at their size.

"His hands are so big," she murmured, letting the conversation from inside the room roll over her. She already knew the information Flack was spouting off.

She felt Danny's arm slide around her waist and draw her close to his side. She rested her head on his shoulder and smiled a little as he kissed her on the top of her head.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, his lips close enough that she could feel his breath on her scalp.

"I need to."

But she stayed there, in his grasp, and rested against him.

They'd been at the hospital for hours. She wore a walking cast; her crutches were propped up against the wall. She was tired. She didn't want to sleep—not yet. Not when she knew the images would follow her into sleep.

And even though Danny had argued with her, urged her to go home, to rest, he'd brought her to the station as morning began to break.

"_They didn't care_."

Donovan finally broke his silence. He shifted his eyes, eyes that had seemed so blank, and turned them on Flack. "The families just pushed it all aside as if it meant nothing. Held these press conferences to save face. Spent all that money to move them to different schools as if that was the only problem. As if my sister was nothing. As if their sons were heros."

"They were children."

"So was _she_. She was innocent. Sweet. _They_ were _careless_," his words were tight, carefully controlled.

Lindsay leaned forward, placed her hands on the sill. She'd had so little time to watch him before; so little time to even try and understand him. The rage and the hate. It seemed so … contained.

"I don't get it. You waited over twenty years. For what—to kill them off, to change their lives—"

"They didn't matter—but the families. _They _mattered. Their parents should have been old enough to care, to know that they had killed a little girl. That they had destroyed a family. My father," he pointed his finger at himself. "Lost _everything_. He lost his business and nearly the properties my grandfather bought. He went to jail."

"He went to _prison_," Mac amended calmly. "He shot and killed a mother of three. They lost their mother. Their security."

Donovan laughed—as if the murder from his father's own hand meant nothing.

"He was drunk. He walked into the wrong apartment building. Went to the wrong door," Donovan said. "Even then, he was going after the sisters. He had a mission to make it right."

"He made a mistake, So you just set out to fix it? Continue it?" Flack asked.

"I was going to _finish_ it."

"Then why Detective Monroe?" Mac asked. "Why did you take a police officer?"

"Because you were trying to stop me. The police didn't do anything for my family before. What ever you are—forensic scientists, CSIs. Those that came that day. That came back the next. They didn't do anything. They let them off. Just let them go on with their lives with these big plans. Go to college."

"So I watched them grow up. Kept up with them and their lives. I sold them an apartment in one of my buildings, so I cold keep an eye on them. They moved out there—thought it was a great deal. Then that guy Rollins came back. Said he was looking to buy his old place. An apartment in the building where he lived as a kid. As if he had good memories there. As if it meant nothing."

"According to his family," Mac said, opening the file folder he'd set on the table before him, "he was buying the place to fix it up. Do something with it. Make up for what happened. He wanted to convert it into affordable housing. He was on scholarship to the prep school. He didn't have them money they had. He knew you and your family."

"He ran with them. And he couldn't make up for it."

"So you were just going to kill them. Kill even detective Monroe.," Mac tilted his head, waited a beat. "You were just going to kill them all. Then what?"

"Then it would be done."

"And you would just go on with your life?"

"It's what I always had to do. What my family couldn't do. Survive."

Lindsay shook her head. She knew what it meant to survive. "That's not surviving. That's ..."

"_Destroying_,_" _Danny murmured.

Lindsay leaned forward to rest her head on the double sided glass. She sighed, as she remembered Max Donovan's rage. How he had just tossed them aside, physically overpowering them.

How his fingers had closed around her throat. How it had been so easy for him to kill.

"_Montana_," Danny murmured, gently rubbing her back.

"Wait," she leaned back, but reached for his hand. Her fingers intertwined with his, and she held on.

Flack bent forward, placing both hands on the table as he stared down Max Donovan. His eyes were hard, as she'd seen them so many times. Still Donovan just stared back.

"Each of those men you killed off," Flacks said. "They were changed by your sister's death. All of them had plans to do something good. They never forgot her. And you stopped whatever good could have come from what they were doing. You just ended it all."

Still, there was no remorse. Donovan stared back at Flack, unmoving. Unshaken.

Even as Flack pushed up, Donovan didn't move. He just stared straight ahead.

Unchanged.

She sighed.

"Let me take you home," Danny tried again, and gently rubbed her back, careful of the bruises.

She looked over at him, feeling sad. And tired. "Ok."

He grabbed her crutches for her, but even as she took them in her hands, he scooped her up in his arms.

"Danny!" she hissed as he just started to walk. "Put me down."

"You got to be your own hero. Got to save yourself. You had the job done before I even got there," he said and carried her out of observation and into the precinct's pit. He was well aware that people watched, and even more aware that Lindsay was completely still and fuming at him.

"I just wanted to sweep you off your feet."

"Danny—" Lindsay bit off as he an officer held open the door so they could step out into the street.

But as he stepped to the curb and somehow managed to hail a cab, she felt the deep rumble in his chest as he laughed—at her, at them.

At maybe even at the fact that they were together. Alive.

So she just let him sweep her away, and rested her head on his shoulder—suddenly feeling safe. Just safe. It was just ... so right.

She she didn't fight back, or argue. She just let herself rest against him. It was just ... _right_.

There was plenty of time to pay him back later.

When the world wasn't watching.

* * *

_So ... final chapter. I think I tied up all the loose ends ... but you are more than welcome to let me know if I need to add something, or tell me what you think :p ... thanks so much for supporting my first every multi chapter fic. I hope you enjoyed it. Or enjoy this last chapter as well!_


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